How Garcia Proves She's the Goddess of Love
by Evil Cosmic Triplets
Summary: Garcia is a veritable goddess of all things technical, and she's also started dabbling in matchmaking. Do Morgan and Reid even stand a chance? (Morgan/Reid, with hints of Rossi/Hotch)
1. Putting Plans into Motion

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters of this work of fiction. No profit, monetary or otherwise, is being made through the writing of this.

**A/N:** Written for SpagettiTacos, for her birthday. Happy birthday, my friend. Hope you enjoy.

I hope others enjoy reading this as well.

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Putting Plans into Motion

Garcia glanced at Morgan and smiled to herself. He was watching Reid closely, but trying to pretend that he was reading a report. She might have bought that, if he hadn't been holding the report upside down, and peering at Reid over the top of it.

As usual, though, and this caused Garcia to frown, Reid was completely oblivious to the fact that he had his teammate's full, undivided attention. She sighed to herself, and tapped her pen on the conference table, needing the auditory stimulation, because it was too quiet, and tension, tight enough to spring a mousetrap, had permeated the air. It was stifling, and Garcia didn't like to see her people so tense.

Of course, Garcia knew that it had little to do with the unresolved relationship issues amongst the senior team members (namely Hotchner and Rossi, and Morgan and Reid), but rather the case that they were looking into. It was yet another series of grisly murders – nothing new there, it was what they did, after all. Except, and here was the creeptastic part, it looked like this particular series of murders taking place in several rural towns in the Midwestern state of Minnesota, was the work of, not one, but two separate serial killers who, according to the team, played off of each other in some kind of sick competition.

"Garcia." Hotch frowned and gave her that look that made her feel as though she was twelve years old again, and sitting in her seventh grade math class, with Mrs. Dubinsky staring, in exasperation, at her over the tops of her horn-rimmed glasses.

Garcia gave her boss a stricken look, and carefully set her pen on the table, and then pushed it away from her so that it wouldn't tempt her again. She was rewarded for her actions with a tight smile, and then Hotch returned his focus to the pictures sitting in front of him. Pictures that Garcia would no doubt be seeing in her dreams for a long time to come, at least until this case was wrapped up by the team.

She hated having to look at crime scene photos, especially ones as gruesome as these had been. All of the targeted victims had been men – deer hunters – and they'd been gutted, bled out, beheaded, and hung from trees. Their severed heads had been placed beneath their dangling feet.

It seemed that the battling serial killers were keeping tally of the murders, taking a trophy (a molar tooth) and no doubt photographing their kills. They'd attached the 'kill' tag, properly filled out, to the left (in the case of one of the killers) and right (in the case of the other killer) ear of the victim.

Garcia hoped that she wouldn't have to look at anymore photos for this case, because she already had enough fodder for nightmares. She shivered, and turned her attention, once more to Morgan, who now had the report right side up. His eyes would, every now and again, steal a look at Reid, who was so focused on what he was reading that his lips were moving soundlessly as he read. It was rather endearing, something that Garcia thought must be part of why Morgan liked Reid a little more than he let on.

Garcia knew that Morgan's jibes and teasing remarks directed at Reid were masking something else entirely. It reminded her of Billy, from grade school, and how he'd driven her crazy, pulling on her pigtails and pushing her down, or 'accidentally' bumping into her. She'd shoved back, and treated him with equal contempt, until her mother explained to her that Billy only did those things because he was 'interested' in her.

And, judging by how aggressive Morgan's taunts and professional 'shoving' matches had gotten of late, Garcia knew he had it bad. She wouldn't be surprised if the man was in love with his co-worker, and she couldn't exactly blame him. Reid was a sweetie, and, though she loved Morgan, she'd come to realize, after some heavy making out, that she loved Morgan as a brother, and that he, even if he wouldn't admit it to himself, loved someone else.

While the team talked about the case, going into details that Garcia didn't really want to hear anyway, she started working on a plan to get the two boys together. She feigned interest in the discussion going on around her, paying attention now and again to what was being said – she was great at multi-tasking, and knew, at least in part, what was going on, and how the team was going to approach the bizarre case in Minnesota.

When Hotchner closed the meeting, and told everyone to gear up, Garcia sprang into action, putting the first part of her plan, which she titled – _The Morgan/Reid project_ – into motion. She booked the team rooms at the only hotel in the area that had honeymoon suites, rooming Morgan and Reid, Hotch and Rossi, and, because she'd double booked the rooms for the men, Prentiss and JJ, together.

Though her focus was primarily on Morgan and Reid, she figured that it couldn't hurt to start working on Hotch and Rossi (no doubt they would be harder nuts to crack than Morgan and Reid) as well, and give them a push in the right direction. It would only help her later efforts at getting the two of them to recognize that what they felt for each other was beyond the bounds of friendship and a closely knit working camaraderie.

She smiled to herself when Morgan popped his head into her lair, a panicked look on his face. "Hey, my queen, what's up with the room arrangements?" he asked the question innocently enough, but Garcia could read his nervousness.

Garcia gave Morgan her best, I'm-sorry-it-couldn't-be-helped look, and said, without batting an eyelash, "Sorry, sugarplum, all the other hotels were booked – hunting season is apparently a big deal in Minnesota – and these were the only rooms that they had available. Everyone else has to share a room too."

"But," Morgan swallowed, and bit his bottom lip, further proving to Garcia that she was right on the money, and that he was, indeed, in love with Reid. "Can't you put me with Hotch or Rossi, or one of the girls?"

"Love muffin," Garcia said affectionately, "it's just for a few days. Besides, I've already booked the rooms, and made the arrangements. The hotel staff is busy, and they were kind of irritated with the last minute booking…"

"Fine," Morgan said, shaking his head. He gave Garcia a brief smile and a kiss on the cheek before he waved his way out the door.

"You are good, girl," Garcia said, once she was certain that Morgan was out of earshot. Hotch popped his head in the doorway just as the last of the words died on her lips, and she jumped in her chair, clutching at her chest, eyes wide.

"Um, bossman, you didn't just…" Garcia stumbled over her words, inwardly cursing herself.

"Hear you praising yourself?" Hotch asked dryly. "Should I be giving you a pat on the back?"

Garcia felt herself blushing, and she shook her head vehemently, hoping that Hotch didn't know what she'd been up to in the booking of the rooms. "Uh, no, I was just…" she flailed her hands around the room as she spoke, hoping that Hotch would buy the lie that she'd done something amazing with regard to computer work – as usual.

Hotch raised an eyebrow at her attempted explanation for her exclamation, and Garcia doubted that she'd fooled the man. He always had been good at reading her, and she knew that it was a hazard of working with the BAU, because the men and women here had been trained to read people, and she worked with some of the best teams in the entire nation. Still, sometimes she hated that she could hide very little from any of them. Hotch, however, was the best at reading her.

"Room arrangements?" Hotch questioned.

"It just so happens to be the only hotel available with your specifications. It's within five miles of the most recent killings, and…" Garcia refused to look at Hotch as she spoke, looking instead at the computer monitor listing the hotel arrangements she'd made for the team.

She could see Hotch, reflected in the monitor. The serious frown that was so often etched in the deep planes of his face was, if anything, even graver than it usually was. It almost gave her pause. Almost made her rearrange the hotel rooms, but she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, knowing that she was doing the right thing – for everyone – in the long run.

One day, Morgan and Reid would thank her for this, and so would Hotch and Rossi. Until that day, Garcia had a lot of work to do, and more of her plan to put into place.

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	2. Tireless Work of a Goddess

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own any recognizable characters in this work of fiction, and am still not making a profit.

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Tireless Work of a Goddess

Garcia's fingers flew over the keyboard, at warp speed, as she typed furiously. Her eyes were roaming over the multiple screens available to her, taking in everything on one monitor in a quick scan, before moving onto the next. She was in her element, going through data, looking for connections where there didn't appear to be any. For the most part, Garcia loved her work, even though what she was searching for, more often than not, made her sick to her stomach and made her heart lurch painfully in her chest.

What these two men in Minnesota were doing was awful, and horribly twisted. Garcia hoped that the team would catch them quickly, and put an end to their macabre murder spree. Two more men had been killed, and tagged since the team had gone to Minnesota three days ago.

She doubted that anyone had spent much time 'enjoying' their hotel suites. Not that her plans were more important than, or even as important as, the case at hand, but she'd done everything she could to help the boys along toward starting something a little more than just friendship. Garcia hoped that her efforts hadn't been wasted, and that, if nothing else, the team was well-rested at the start of their long days.

As she found a connection between a Mr. Davies, and a Mr. Mesner, Garcia tapped her earpiece. "What'ya need baby doll?" she asked, even as she started putting the pieces together.

Both young men were in their mid-twenties. Both had gone to the same summer camp when they were young teens, and had apparently kept in touch with each other through email and occasional phone calls, over the years. However, they hadn't attended the same university, or even lived in the same town. Davies was a pharmaceutical salesman, and Mesner was, of all things, a well-loved third grade teacher at a grade school in a small Wisconsin town that bordered the state of Minnesota.

"Got anything for us, goddess of all things technical?" Morgan's sweet, melodic voice put an instant smile on her face, even though the news she had to share with him caused goose bumps to rise along her flesh.

Garcia shared the connection she'd made between the two young men, and a couple of other young men, around the same age, who had similar connections. Something – call it an intuition that she'd gained from working with the BAU for so long – told Garcia that it was Davies and Mesner, not Markham and Pitch, or Zellerman and Hicks, who were the killers.

Garcia didn't share her 'gut' feelings with Morgan, though. She knew better than that. Her area of expertise was computer-related. She wasn't an expert at identifying killers, and she doubted that Hotch would understand or accept her reasoning behind fingering Davies and Mesner as killers, which she'd based, not entirely, on the cruelty that she could see in their pictures – even the one she'd found of them, arms slung around each other at summer camp when they were just teenagers. That, and their matching grey-blue eyes – cool, and crisp as a December day.

"Did you know there'd be only one bed in the rooms you booked for us?" Morgan asked, jarring Garcia from her thoughts about the men who had, so far, killed a dozen men between them.

Garcia almost choked on the sip of tea she'd taken from her mug, and it was a near thing that she didn't spit it out all over her keyboard. Took you long enough to ask, she thought with a small scowl and shake of her head. She almost snorted, but refrained.

Hotch had already called and left a message enquiring as to why she'd booked them rooms with single king-sized beds, and she'd pointedly ignored his call, talking only business with the man when he'd called again.

As it turned out, much to Garcia's delight, the hotel really was busy, and there were no other rooms available for the team to book. They'd had to make do with their king-sized beds. The hotel didn't even have a roll away bed available. Garcia had been inwardly pleased with that particular development, though she didn't comment when Hotch had mentioned it, in passing, the next day when she'd called with some information pertaining to the case.

"Hmm…what? Oh, um…no," Garcia lied, hoping that Morgan wouldn't see through her like he normally did. Sometimes it felt as though he could read her like a book.

"Is that a problem?" she asked, praying that she'd added just the right amount of feigned innocence to her voice.

She was an actor, albeit an amateur, but she should be able to fool Morgan over the phone. In person…well, that was a different matter entirely, and Garcia knew that all it would take to make her cave would be a certain wounded, don't-you-trust-me, look on his part. Over the phone, however, Morgan was unable to use his puppy dog eyes, or full, pouty lips, to his advantage.

There was a deep sigh on the other end, and Garcia squirmed on the inside. She bit her bottom lip, and took a sip of, now tepid, tea, to keep from spilling the truth.

"No," another sigh that made Garcia feel as though she had mocked the death of a beloved puppy rather than booked a room with the ulterior motive of getting two of her good friends together. "It's fine."

"Nice rooms?" Garcia asked. She'd seen pictures on the internet, and hoped that they were a true representative of what the FBI had shelled out a pretty penny for.

"Yeah," and Garcia could hear the smile in Morgan's voice, even if she couldn't see it, "real nice. I think Hotch should have you take care of booking our hotel rooms more often."

"I aim to please, sugar." Garcia didn't have to lie about that. It was her goal to make her men, and women, happy, because, in their line of work, there was little else that she could do for them. Making things more bearable, even if it was only in the booking of hotel rooms, and ordering of room service (on her dime), was something that she was more than willing to do.

Tonight, she'd arranged for flowers, red wine, a fruit and cheese plate, and a simple dinner of rosemary chicken, asparagus and apple compote to be delivered to Morgan and Reid's suite. She'd done something similar for the other two pairs over the past two days, and it was now Morgan and Reid's turn to be spoiled with love from afar. Garcia hoped that the meal, and her gesture, wouldn't go to waste.

Emily and JJ had been thoroughly surprised and thankful, seeing it as nothing more than the kind act from their team member that it was. Rossi had thanked Garcia, and left so much unsaid with a heavy, tense silence that hung over the connection between them, before he'd thanked her again, and then hung up.

She took it to mean that Rossi understood what she was doing, and that Hotch was more than just a little reserved. He was really going to be difficult for Garcia to work her magic on, but, she was up for the challenge. And, just as soon as she'd sorted Morgan and Reid out, she'd start working on that. By the time she was done, he'd be putty in her hands.

"Anything else, brown sugar?" Garcia asked.

"Take care of yourself," Morgan said, and the soft click that followed left a silence behind that was filled with promise.

Or, maybe that was only wishful thinking on her part. Garcia took another sip of her tea and made a mental note to warm it up in the microwave after she first took care of a couple of other key components of the _Morgan/Reid project._

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	3. Falling off the Fence

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any recognizable characters of this work of fiction. No profit of any sort is being made through the writing of this.

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Falling off the Fence

Garcia assumed that it was Morgan calling her first thing the next morning, as she was just getting in, her computers humming to life with a few well-placed touches. _Just like sex_, she thought with a small smile. _Maybe even better than sex._

"Sex palace, your tour guide, the lovely bablicious Garcia, at your service. Just tell me what you want, lover," Garcia purred into the phone.

When a sharp intake of breath and silence met her greeting, Garcia rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. _It's way too early for this_, she thought, and took a generous sip of her tea, which warmed her down to the toes. _Nothing better than a good, hot cup of tea to start your day,_ she mused, and waited patiently for her caller to find his voice.

When it became apparent that the other party wasn't going to speak, "Reid," she said, with as much patience as she could muster at this early hour.

She might look bright-eyed and bushytailed in the mornings, but she was not, strictly speaking, a morning person. Garcia preferred to have limited, to no, communication until at least an hour into her workday. It worked better for her, and everyone else concerned, if she was just left alone to get into the right frame of mind for the workday ahead.

"You gotta use your words, honey," Garcia cajoled. A small part of her was starting to get irritated, but there was a bigger part of her that was intrigued, and starting to get excited by Reid's inability to articulate whatever it was that was on his mind. That was atypical of the young agent, who, even though he didn't particularly like talking on the phone, was rarely tongue-tied.

"Um…" the non-word was more of a susurration of sound than anything else, but there were a number of emotions in the single syllable utterance that Reid had dragged out into several long syllables. Garcia's lips curled upward in a decidedly self-pleased and slightly wicked grin.

"What happened, sweetie?" Garcia asked in a voiced dripping with concern. "Was there a breakthrough in the case? Was someone hurt?" She felt a prickling of guilt, because she was laying the feigned concern on rather thick, and she knew that Reid hadn't called because of anything pertaining to the case. He, of all of them, knew better than to call her at this hour of the day, unless it was something important.

"Oh, no, no, nothing like that," Reid said hurriedly, and Garcia could almost see him blushing over the phone line.

Reid swallowed audibly, and Garcia waited with a patient sort of exasperation, for him to tell her what she wanted to hear – that her little set-up the night before had pushed Morgan and Reid off that proverbial fence they'd been straddling for several months now. She held her breath as she waited, crossing her fingers on both hands, and pressing her lips firmly together so that she wouldn't scare Reid off with an overly enthusiastic outburst when he told her what she wanted to hear.

Garcia mentally encouraged Reid to speak, not trusting her voice to remain neutral if she opened her mouth. She really didn't want to spook Reid, not now, not when she was so close to finding out if her efforts to get Morgan and Reid together had borne the fruit that she'd desired.

Another swallow, and an almost spoken word, "Gar…ungh," that turned into a squeak, almost made Garcia growl in frustration. It would have been comical if Garcia hadn't been on the edge of her seat – both figuratively, and literally.

"C'mon Reid, hand over the phone," Morgan's voice was muffled by something that Garcia wasn't sure she could trust herself to imagine within PG, or even PG-13, ratings.

She closed her eyes and dug her fingers into her palms, wishing that she could see Morgan and Reid so that her mind couldn't wreak havoc on her imagination so early in the morning. When this was over, she was going to need to take a cold shower, provided that she survived, and that her boys told her what she really wanted to hear. If they didn't, she was going to murder one or both of them, and no one would be able to trace the murders to her. If they did, she was certain that any judge and jury in the nation would acquit her after hearing what she'd done to get these two together.

Morgan and Reid were meant to be, and all that she was doing was giving them a little push –shove – in the right direction, because they were too blind, or stubborn, to see what everyone else could see. Garcia could see how much Morgan loved Reid, and how Reid seemed to look to Morgan for guidance. They were like two sides of the same coin. Though it was cliché, it fit them, as did a number of other, age-old clichés that came to mind.

"Hey, sexy," Morgan's rich voice came on the line with something akin to a purr, that, in spite of her knowledge that the other man wasn't her type, and vice versa, made Garcia's skin tingle, and toes curl.

"Morgan," Garcia tried to keep her voice even as she spoke, but it cracked in the middle, and she coughed to clear her throat, and then took a sip of her tea. It was still warm, and soothed some of her tension, as well as her dry throat. All of this pussyfooting around by the boys was taking a toll on her, in more ways than one.

"What Reid was trying, but failing, so eloquently to say…" a pause, followed by an exchange of words that Garcia couldn't hear, even though she turned up the volume of her phone, and strained her ears to listen, had her, once again, on the edge of her seat and gulping at her tea.

"Garcia," Reid had reclaimed the phone again, this time his voice was confident, and she could hear the trace of a smile. "I just wanted to say, thank you. For the dinner, and…"

"And?" Garcia couldn't keep the anticipation from her voice as she prodded Reid to continue his sentence.

Her nails were making permanent indentations into her palms. At this rate, she was going to need plastic surgery to repair them, and maybe a manicure, because one of her nails was bound to become imbedded into her palm, for good.

"And…" another maddening pause was followed by a muffled conversation that Garcia couldn't quite overhear, and then the phone was switched back to Morgan, leaving Garcia's head swimming.

"Thanks for the king-sized bed," Morgan added. "It turned out to be very…handy…last night."

If Morgan had been present, Garcia was not sure she wouldn't have hauled off and slapped him for his tongue-in-cheek answer that didn't give her what she wanted. But, as it was, he was several states away, and not within slapping distance, though, maybe if she could get Reid on the phone again, she could convince him to do her dirty work for her.

"Morgan," Reid's voice, though it was distant, sounded every bit as indignant as Garcia had hoped it would, confirming her suspicions that Morgan was just toying with her. She heard what sounded like flesh striking flesh, albeit it softly, and smiled. "Give me the phone back."

"Uh-uh," Morgan said, and Garcia could almost picture Morgan trying to hold the phone up above Reid's head, even though the other man is almost as tall as he is. "You had your chance." Those words sounded far enough away to confirm Garcia's suspicions that Morgan was playing keep away with Reid, and, though neither man could see her, she rolled her eyes at their antics.

"Could you two stop playing around long enough to tell me what is going on?" Garcia said, allowing the exasperation she felt to leak through in her words. "And…" when she sensed that she had Morgan, and Reid's attention, she continued, "I want a detailed explanation, Mister, of what you meant by the king-sized bed coming in handy. Once you break this case, and get your cute little arses back home, that is."

"Details?" Reid's voice was a muffled whisper that cracked at the end of the word.

He sounded positively horrified at the prospect of Garcia finding out however the king-sized bed had come in handy for the two men. Garcia couldn't wait to invite Morgan over for dinner and get a couple of glasses of wine into the man so that she could wheedle those details out of the man. Especially if whatever use Morgan and Reid had put the bed to, had been the sole cause of Reid's flustered state.

"Thanks," Morgan said, in a much more subdued voice, once sounds of further struggling had died down. He cleared his throat, and took a deep breath. "I hope that, some day, I can return the favor."

Garcia felt herself blushing, and she shook her head, though she knew that neither man could see her. She blinked, unabashedly, at tears of happiness, and took several deep breaths.

"I think we've rendered her speechless, Reid," Morgan teased.

"Just, hurry up and catch those killers," Garcia managed, once she'd gotten her emotions under control.

"Sure thing, sugar," Morgan said.

"Actually, we've had a bit of a breakthrough that you might be interested in hearing…" Reid was back to his regular, verbose self.

Smiling, Garcia sat back and listened as the young agent took the phone from Morgan's hand, in the midst of loud half-protests, and rattled off how they'd discovered some incriminating evidence at one of the crime scenes that linked at least half of the killings to Davies. They were planning to haul him in for questioning later that morning, and were certain that, with a little pressure, he'd cave and give away his partner in crime.

By the time Morgan and Reid had hung up – had she heard a kiss? – Garcia couldn't help but feel like she'd accomplished a lot in the past twenty-four hours. She'd gotten Morgan and Reid off the fence, and using the honeymoon suite's king-bed for what nature, and the hotel industry had intended, and, she'd solved a murder. Well, she and her team had solved the murder, but they wouldn't have been able to do it without her. She felt a little like Velma and Daphne rolled into one sexy, voluptuous package.

"Someone needs to give me a Scooby Snack," Garcia muttered to herself as she took a sip of her tea, and frowned. It had cooled over the course of the phone call. "And a shoulder rub," she mused as she started working on a tight knot that had formed in her left shoulder. Morgan owed her a lot, and she was going to collect when he returned.

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	4. Epilogue: Next Course of Action

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any recognizable characters in this work of fiction. No profit is being made through the writing of this.

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Epilogue: Next Course of Action

As Reid had predicted, Davies had talked, and now both he and Mesner were in police custody – where they belonged. Once they'd wrapped up the case, the team had returned, and, much to Garcia's inner, and outer, delight, Morgan and Reid had excused themselves shortly after arriving, and left together.

Later that week, Garcia had gotten her shoulder rub, and figurative Scooby Snack, in the form of Morgan giving her a somewhat detailed account of how the king-sized bed had come in handy for him and Reid. What he had shared with her left little, and a lot, to the imagination.

Reid's wearing a scarf to work – covering a hickey that Garcia had learned had occurred sometime after they'd eaten the dinner she'd ordered for him – was an added bonus. Garcia hadn't missed out on a single opportunity to make the younger man blush, or walk away, flabbergasted, at something she'd said or alluded to.

Today, there was another case, and they were gathered in the conference room. Garcia was doing her best not to look at the pictures strewn out over the table, because they were even more gruesome than the last batch, and that was saying something.

She sometimes wondered if she'd ever get used to seeing grisly pictures detailing the horrible crimes that humans performed against one another, and if there'd ever be a time when she could honestly say that she'd seen it all. She hoped to god that such a time never came.

She tapped her fingers on the hard wood of the table, needing the distraction the noise provided from the photos, the case, the familiar conversation that the team was having about their newest unsub. A heavy hand, landing on her shoulder, caused her to jump, and she turned to scowl at Rossi, even as she stopped tapping her fingers. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, and raised an eyebrow in question. Her gaze darted toward the photos, and then slid away quickly, before she could really see the contents of the photos. As it was, they'd already been burned into her memory.

Rossi leaned in close to her, moving his hand from her shoulder to her wrist when she'd started tapping again. He squeezed her wrist, and then pointed, covertly, across the table, to where Morgan was sitting. Garcia was certain that no one else was paying any attention to Rossi and her, or to Morgan.

The man, unaware of his peers' attention, appeared to be listening to whatever it was that Prentiss was saying about their unsub. His head was tilted to the side, and he had a serious look on his face. He gripped a pen tightly in one hand and appeared to be writing something on a pad of paper that sat in front of him.

But, much to Garcia's satisfaction, she could see that, rather than looking at Prentiss, Morgan's eyes were transfixed, unblinkingly, on Reid. In particular, they were on Reid's mouth. Morgan's mouth was slightly open, his tongue darting out between his lips every now and again to wet them.

Rossi rolled his eyes at Garcia, and mouthed, 'He's got it bad.'

Garcia snorted, and blushed, and quickly looked away when everyone turned to frown at her.

"Is there something that you'd like to add, Garcia?" Hotch asked. His tone was sharp and serious, and Garcia looked away as she shook her head.

"No, sir, nothing to add," she murmured, and then she looked up at the team leader, meeting his gaze head on. "Except, can I just say, ew." She shivered dramatically as she gestured at one of the more grisly looking photos. "Whoever is carving these people up is in the wrong line of work, whatever it is. He'd make an excellent butcher, if he isn't one already. Or, he could always work at Arby's, manning the roast beef slicer."

Even though no one laughed – how could they with what they were looking at? – there was a collective sigh and a much needed release of tension. Rossi nudged her gently, and she could see, out of the corner of her eye, that he was smiling at her.

"Well done," Rossi whispered, once the others had resumed their discussion. "We need what you do, perhaps more than we let on. Even Hotch," Rossi cleared his throat, "appreciates when you do something like that, aimed at lightening up the atmosphere. Not that he'll ever say anything." Rossi snorted, and rolled his eyes. "Man's too serious for his own good."

Garcia agreed with a nod. She was still focused on watching Morgan, watching Reid. His pupils were wide, and his breathing was a little too shallow. She turned her attention to Reid, and almost fell off her chair.

The younger agent, even as he appeared to be unaware of Morgan's undivided attention, had his head resting on his hands, his elbows propped up on the table. He was chewing on the end of his pen, and, every now and again, he'd roll his tongue around the end of it, and move the pen in and out of his mouth, in a manner which was highly suggestive of something else entirely. It was a wonder that no one else appeared to be noticing this, other than she and Rossi.

Garcia felt heat rise up along her neck and to her cheeks, and, when Morgan wet his lips once again, and then reached below the table, she tried to force herself to look away. She had the feeling that, in spite of the distinct lack of privacy, some sort of private, silent conversation was going on between Morgan and Reid, and she felt like a voyeur.

Garcia shivered when Rossi leaned close, his lips touching the outer edge of her ear, as he whispered, "Think you can arrange for us to double up on rooms again? Wine, steak, and perhaps a massage?"

Not trusting her voice, Garcia swallowed, and straightening up, she nodded. Reluctantly, she pried her gaze away from Morgan, who had dropped the pretense of writing anything on his pad, the pen lying discarded on the tabletop, beside the notepad.

She focused her attention, instead, on Hotch, noted the deep frown lines etched in his face. Her heart ached in her chest, and she decided that, since the _Morgan/Reid Project _had been a fabulous success (what was Morgan doing with the hand that he'd had snuck beneath the table, and what was causing Reid to smile like he was holding the secret to the universe and was not going to tell anyone?), she'd now turn her focus on Hotch and Rossi. The two, or rather, Garcia mused that one of them – Hotch – wouldn't know what had hit him, when all was said and done.

Rossi's whispered, "I'm counting on you," accompanied by a gentle squeeze to her shoulder, goaded her into action. Before the meeting was adjourned, and travel arrangements made, Garcia had already set the first part of her new plan – _The Rossi/Hotch Undertaking_ – into motion.

_Smart phones are the handmaidens of modern-day goddesses and cupids_, Garcia thought to herself as she booked the hotel rooms and arranged for little gifts and surprises for the team that would hopefully make their stay in Missouri a little more pleasant than it would otherwise be. They worked hard, and she reasoned that they needed to have something relaxing waiting for them at the end of the day – and, if it was just a little more suggestive of things other than strict rest and relaxation, she couldn't be blamed (at least not in a way that would stand up in a court of law).

Seeing Morgan and Reid kiss in the corridor, after the team had been dispersed, and they thought that they were alone, was the icing on the cake, and all the proof that Garcia needed that she was doing the right thing in meddling in affairs that others would argue weren't hers to mess with. If pressed, Garcia would argue, tooth and nail, that this _was_ her business, that the happiness of her men was hers, and hers alone, to meddle in.

The kiss was almost chaste, save for the fact that Morgan's tongue found its way into Reid's mouth, and a soft groan escaped the younger man. She might be mistaken, but Garcia thought that she'd seen Morgan's knees buckle a little before he pulled away. Both men were shaky and breathing heavily, foreheads resting against each other's', when she walked away, burning that image in her mind, hoping that it would replace that of the ugly photos that she'd seen.

Humming to herself, Garcia got back to work. She had much to do, and little time in which to get it done. She wasn't called a miracle-worker for nothing, though, and Fate was counting on her to do her part. A part which she was more than willing to do.

"Just call me, Garcia, the goddess of technology, hotel-booking, and love," she said aloud when she'd reached the privacy of her lair. The image of Morgan and Reid kissing was at the forefront of her mind, and, as her fingers flew across the keys of her super computer, Garcia smiled to herself.

* * *

Reviews would be greatly appreciated.

Mahalo


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